Save Us
by skysedge
Summary: A collection of CassianxJizabel drabblesque oneshots. Latest: You Were Loved. Rated to be safe.
1. Feathers

**A/N **_My motivation has mutinied against me. As such, I have turned to a prompt challenge to get me back into the zone, so to speak. So here I will post – hopefully – 100 CassianJizabel drabbles. Of course, you all know me. Nothing will be under 600 words, I predict some will be much longer. Anyway, I am using the table from the fanfic100 LJ challenge comm. I shall be posting a link to my table in my profile, for anyone interested. Onwards!_

_**Prompt: #50 Spade (Taken here as the tool)**_

_**Title: Feathers**_

_**Rating: K+**_

_**Words: 973**_

_**-x-**_

One of the doves had died.

Not through mistreatment or malnourishment and certainly not through violence. The fragile bird had simply grown old, its snow white feathers fading to a dirty, smeared grey and its eyes dulled and scabbed. Being raised by loving hands in captivity, this particular dove had been seventeen years old.

Jizabel couldn't remember purchasing the egg or meeting the little hatchling for the first time. Nor could he remember the first flight, the loss of the downy feathers, the small things that had marked the passing of its existence. But he could remember that it had been beautiful, once. Its feathers had been pure, its song soft.

_It had been beautiful._

And now it was a twisted lump of sodden grey feathers that clung to the fragile bones, a mess of organic matter that lay at Jizabel's feet and waited to be cleared away. The rain had been falling since the morning and the earth of the courtyard was saturated, sinking beneath each footfall and smothering what little grass there was with mud. Jizabel hadn't noticed the rain until he had decided to check on the birds, having been inside and working on some new experiment. Coming out here at sundown was the only way to seal off the rest of the day, the only way he could sleep soundly. He had missed the sunset tonight. The sky was now a dirty grey, the clouds low and dark. The courtyard seemed almost alien. Silent. The rest of the doves had gone to shelter and had not even cooed in welcome.

There had been a shovel resting by the wall. After seeing the fallen bird, Jizabel had crossed to it on instinct, seeing the corpse first as a _mess_ and second as a _loss._ Once he had trudged back across the yard, boots caked in mud already and silver hair dark with the rain, it had hit him. The loss. He stood over the corpse and stared, stared as if he had no idea what had happened, as if he hadn't been up to his elbows in a stomach cavity earlier that day.

He didn't have much in the world. His work. His quarters. His crucifix. And his doves.

_It was no longer beautiful._

One boot on the shovel, he pressed down until he tore the earth apart. He almost slipped as he pulled the tool back out, foot sliding back across the drowning grass behind him. But he didn't stop. Mud now flicking upwards and starting to dirty his trousers and jacket as well as his shoes, Jizabel dug until the hole seemed deep enough, a dark chasm in the drenched earth with shifting walls that ran with rivulets of mud.

He stared down into the unfilled grave. Which smiled and called his name.

A quick scoop and flick with the shovel sent the dove tumbling into the ground, one wing catching on the lip of the pit as it fell. The bones gave way with a wet snap and a long, dishevelled feather was left on the surface. As Jizabel began refilling the hole, the feather was swallowed by the liquid mud. It was better that way.

By the time the corpse was covered, Jizabel was breathing heavily, even his spectacles streaked with mud. The last of the light faded from the sky and the courtyard was cast in dark blue and grey hues, the dovecote and the walls just deeper shadows against a wall of darkness. After a long moment, he let the shovel fall to the ground with a soft thud. The rain continued to fall, freezing droplets clinging to his pale eyelashes and his trembling lower lip.

He turned to leave and had soon swept out of the courtyard. Once even the echo of his footsteps had faded away, a small shadow detached itself from the wall where the shovel had originally been standing. It crossed to where the tool had fallen and raised it up from the ground, sighing as its hands grew slick with mud. Once the shovel had been balanced back against the wall, the shadow turned and gazed in the direction Jizabel had left.

Cassian cursed under his breath. He had wanted to bury the corpse before Jizabel could see. But he had been too late. He was always too late, these days. But that didn't mean he understood any less. He knew exactly what Jizabel would be thinking, shut away in his quarters and staring blankly into the candlelight.

_Nothing was beautiful in this world._

_Nothing. And he had nothing. The dove had grown with him, taken grain from his hand while his back bled openly, flown to greet him when he stank of death, perched on his shoulder while he purged his memory of hideous experiments. And now it was nothing but a mangled heap of sinew shrouded in dirt._

_That was all that awaited the rest of the doves. That was all that awaited him. It wasn't surprising. After all, he didn't have much in the world. His work. His quarters. His crucifix. And his doves. _

And his shadow.

Cassian waited until he had counted a full two minutes under his breath and then left the courtyard, heading back to his own quarters. Which was a fruitless activity. He wouldn't be able to sleep. He would lay still and be unable to stop seeing that image, Jizabel standing over the crumpled dove who had once been so beautiful. Eventually, in the early hours of the morning, exhaustion would take its toll and he would fall into a confused web of dreams.

While Jizabel sat and thought only of oblivion, Cassian would dream of white feathers in a blue sky.

Because he had been beautiful. And it was going to take more than rain to wash the dirt away.

-x-

_**All reviews appreciated. Please add this to your alerts as I shall be posting **__**all **__**the drabbles here.**_


	2. Alone At The End Of The World

**A/N **_Numero two. Spoilers for the end of the whole series._

_**Prompt: #66 Rain**_

_**Title: Alone At The End Of The World**_

_**Rating: K+**_

_**Words: 1231**_

_**-x-**_

_Just let me die._

How many times has he asked that, now? Too many. Too many to count, at least. He's sobbed it into his hands, screamed it through cracked lips, and whispered it in his sleep. More than anything, he has sat here and thought it so loudly that he is surprised the headstone hasn't cracked under the pressure.

_Let me die._

He isn't sure who he is asking. Not God. He settled his mind on that matter long ago. The sky above him is empty of anything but the rain. There are no pearly gates hiding just behind the next cloud. No angels with silver wings waitfor him with open arms. No one cares whether he takes his next breath or whether he leaves the world behind. Only one person had ever really cared about that.

And he shouldn't have. If he hadn't, Cassian would have been able to give his life for the one thing he had believed in, would have been embraced by the velvet arms of oblivion. Instead, he has survived. He had tried to save the man who lacked silver wings but had been an angel anyway. And he had failed. And Jizabel had died. And each day since tears into his heart like a dirty blade.

_Please. Let me die._

The headstone remains as solid as always. He's sitting on the ground beside it, so as not to lie on the mound of earth that is barely noticeable, these days. He had been smoking until the rain soaked through all of his tobacco and so now he rolls some idly between one thumb and forefinger. It feels disgusting, more like a solid lump of rock than anything else. But it helps. It helps him focus the silent plea.

The rain is cold and is only getting worse. Soon, the trees will be creaking with the wind and his clothes will have stuck to his skin, the cold penetrating through to his bones. He knows this because it has happened before. It always seems to rain, when he comes here. It feels as if the weather knows why he is here and what he is going to not say.

It never used to rain, not at first. The day he buried Jizabel the sun had been shining. For the first six months, the clearing had always been bright and teeming with life. It had been the perfect place for the doctor to rest. It had been the perfect place for Cassian to remember. He would lay on the grass and think about all the little things he had forced himself to ignore at the time. The beautiful things. The dangerous things.

As time had passed, he had started to think of the _other _things. The things he hadn't said. The things he had refused to acknowledged. The painful things. The heartbreaking things.

That was when the rain had started. Obviously, it had stopped in between. Another six months have passed since it began. It is just that, each time he is here, the rain begins to fall.

It's always cold. He never brings a warmer coat and always sits in the same spot, away from the shelter of the trees. The animals are silent when he is here. They wait for the rain to stop and he knows that cannot happen until he leaves. At first, he'd leave after a few hours. Recently, he's been waiting until nightfall.

Tonight, that isn't good enough. The sky darkens and the rain keeps falling and the man in the borrowed skin sits as still as if he was carved from stone. Water droplets cling to his eyelashes and hair before running down his skin, perhaps trying to erode his blank facade and get at the raging mess that waits inside his head. The tobacco he had been rolling between his fingers has now disintegrated. He continues rubbing his fingers together anyway, the skin raw but white with the cold.

_Just let me die. _

He wonders what the rain is. If God doesn't exist then it can't be the tears of angels. But he wants it to be tears, wants to feel as if something out there can feel the pain he struggles with every day, every night, every breath.

_Are you crying? _ he doesn't ask the headstone. _Is that what this is?_

Silence. Of course there is silence. But he sees something. Perhaps the combination of the cold and the sleepless nights are doing something to his brain. Maybe it's because he hasn't eaten properly in months. Or it might have something to do with the empty bottles littering the flat he somehow manages to rent and the blood staining his floorboards.

Maybe he's losing his mind. But it doesn't matter. Because what he sees is hope.

Something sitting on the headstone. A bird. A dove. He can see straight through it to the dark outlines of trees in the distance but that doesn't seem to matter. It watches him with gentle eyes and he wants to reach out to it but can no longer move. His joints scream against the cold. He tries to part his lips to speak but they won't move, the flesh blue and splitting.

_Is that you? _he thinks, as loudly as he can. _Have you come back for me? Did you go away? Is that why the animals stopped coming? Where did you go? _

He topples forwards and cannot move his arms in time. Turning his head, his cheek thuds into the wet grass and he lays facing the headstone. He can't see the dove anymore but as a new wave of biting icy air washes over him he thinks he can feel wings brushing the hairs at the nape of his uncovered neck. His eyes flutter closed and he breathes water out of the grass and into his nose and mouth.

_If you are crying, _he can't say, _then don't stop. Not yet. Keep crying until you've drowned me in your tears. Take me with you to wherever it is you went. And I'll make sure you never have to cry again. Just..._

The rainwater has made it to his lungs, now. He can feel it freezing him from the inside. Nothing is warm anymore, nothing but the burning passion in his skull, a fading echo of the flame that had driven him before he was left alone at the end of the world.

_Just don't..._

The clouds begin parting. Stars watch through the gaps, watch the tiny figure sprawled on the grass in the clearing.

_Just don't stop yet..._

The rain lessens, lightens. So does Cassian's breathing. Water runs from between his lips and pools in the hollow of one outstretched palm. It ripples in the wind. Cassian thinks he can feel a dove there, eating grain from his hand.

_Jizabel..._

A strong gust of wind buffets leaves and twigs against his legs and torso. He doesn't feel them. He feels nothing now but through his closed eyelids he sees someone. Someone walking away.

_Wait for me..._

The stars have to turn away in shame. They cannot cry for him. Nor can the clouds. But somewhere, someone is crying. He can feel it, like raindrops on his skin.

_Just let me be with you, _he says, unaware he can no longer use his voice.

And he sleeps. At last, he sleeps.


	3. You Were Loved

**A/N **_ At last, third one here. Thanks everyone who reviewed! They won't all be depressing, I promise. I just keep getting sad prompts XD If you want to help choose my next one, send me a number between 1-100_

_**Prompt: #25 Strangers**_

_**Title: You Were Loved**_

_**Rating: K**_

_**Words: 1116**_

_-x-_

Snark's fur was the softest thing in the whole world.

Jizabel pressed his face against it and inhaled deeply, not understanding why one of his sisters had told him it was a silly thing to do. It made him happy. And that meant it would make Snark happy too, right? So it was sensible. And so he did it.

Life was this simple. Nothing more than warm summer sunlight, days spent sleeping in the outdoors with his best friend and the perpetual hope of a visit from father. Until he got sick, of course. But that would always pass. And Snark was always waiting when it did.

Today, they were sleeping by the old oak tree in the middle of the clearing. His eyes were red from crying. Father had cancelled a visit, again, but he had been strong in front of his family. Only Snark was allowed to see him cry. His sisters would probably call that silly too. He didn't mind about that so much.

He rolled away from the lamb to stare up at the sky, laying flat on the grass. The animal bleated beside him and moved closer. Jizabel smiled and closed his eyes, watching the sunlight through the bright red of his eyelids.

Summer was beautiful. He liked times like this best. When it was warm and bright. Nothing felt quite as nice as this.

Footsteps broke the comfortable silence. Snark started and snuggled closer to the boy's side. It took him a few seconds longer to realise what he was hearing and by the time he had opened his eyes a dark figure was standing between the trees in front of him. His eyes widened, orbs the colour of lavender fixing on the stranger's face.

A man. A tall man with strong features. He was wearing a thick winter coat and a cap despite the weather, worn garments speaking of poverty. His hands were encased in woollen gloves. One had a slice in the back, revealing a thin scar on his skin.

"Who are you?" Jizabel quavered. His voice was high and trembling, the voice of a child not born for the position he felt he was meant to take. "Why are you on our property?"

"Don't be frightened." The man took a step forward, sunlight slanting down across his face. He was smiling. "I'm not here to hurt your family."

"Then why are you here?" The boy sat cross-legged and gathered the lamb into his lap.

"To see you," the man murmured. Jizabel wasn't sure but it looked like the man was crying. "One last time. Is that okay with you?"

Jizabel didn't understand. He had never met this man before. Had he? After a long moment, he assumed the man was some distant relative, one he had met when he was so small he couldn't remember. Perhaps he was leaving to go abroad or something. That would make sense. And it would be rude to say no.

"Yes," he said quietly. "Okay. Will it take long? Mother should be calling me in soon."

"No, not long," the man said with a soft laugh. "Thank you. You're very kind."

The man moved forward until he was close to the child and crouched down so that he could look him in the eye. The man had nice eyes, Jizabel though. Sad but warm. He didn't move as the man raised a hand to brush his cheek lightly and then run a finger through his shoulder length hair.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"A friend," the man said. "Just a friend. You can trust me. You...can't you see that?"

Jizabel looked closely at him. So sad but...no one had ever looked at Jizabel like that. Except maybe Snark. This man was watching him as if he was precious, as if he was afraid Jizabel would vanish at any moment. He blinked slowly and nodded.

"Yes. But I'm not meant to talk to strangers."

"I know. You shouldn't. But I'm not a stranger."

A quick breeze shook the trees and the man turned, looked over his shoulder. Jizabel could see nothing there but the man nodded as if someone was standing behind him.

"Just a moment," he said. "Just give me one more moment."

He turned back to Jizabel. The boy flinched a little as the man started crying but didn't run away. The air around him felt safe, somehow. Another brush to his cheek and then the man sighed.

"Can you remember two things for me?" the man asked. Jizabel nodded. "You love Snark, right?"

"Yes. How did you-"

"Remember him. Remember how much you loved him and how soft his wool is. Don't ever forget why you loved this animal. No matter what happens. Think you can do that?"

"Of course! I could never forget my best friend."

"No, you couldn't. Okay. There's one more thing I want you to remember."

Jizabel leant forward, eyes wide with curiosity. After taking a deep and shaking breath, the man gave him a half-smile.

"Remember that you were loved."

"What do you-"

"Don't worry about it. You don't need to understand yet. Just...remember that someone loved you. Someone loved you so much that their life meant nothing without you. For someone, you were all that was good in the world. Do you think you can remember that too?"

Jizabel nodded slowly. As the man stood and turned to leave, he felt tears on his own cheeks but didn't know why. The man reached the fringe of trees before the boy stood up, Snark scrambling to join him, and called out.

"Wait!"

The man turned, eyes wide. Jizabel waited a long time for him to speak, as he had been taught to, and when he didn't the boy continued.

"What about you, sir? Were you loved?"

A soft sound slipped between the man's lips, a sound like nothing Jizabel had ever heard. He bit his lip as he waited for the man to gather himself. Dark eyes locked on the boy's and when he spoke, it was in a murmur.

"I hope so, Jizabel. I hope so more than you could ever know. Remember what I told you. Good-bye."

Jizabel didn't stop him this time. Once the man was gone, he sat back down and gathered Snark into his arms. Pressing his face into the wool, he let the unexplained tears fall.

The man's eyes had been the saddest thing in the whole world. He would remember if it meant he would never have to see such sad eyes again.


End file.
